Variation On A Theme.

At the old place, it was Fuck You Friday; random bitching at whatever/whomever was pissing me off at the moment.

I'm not feeling the need to tell people off so much, but a good rant is healthy no? And excessive profanity makes me happy.

So.

Ridiculous shit that made my inner sailor want to curse up a storm this week:

Stoopid Car Rental Guy:

Yes I was aware that the rental that Mr. Crazyasfuckinghell reserved had been cancelled by a member of our staff. Our nursing staff who know that this man is demented as fuck and if he were able to operate a vehicle, which is highly doubtful, he would be a danger to himself and everyone else on the road.

No, I don't really care that you can't "Legally cancel the reservation, as the man has a valid driver's license and credit card" based on MY opinion of his mental status.

It is a fucking medical diagnosis dipshit; Dementia with psychosis, not my fucking 'opinion'.

You can't cancel the reservation? Fine. Drop the car off. Hand the crazy old fucker the keys.

I hope he thought enough to get fucking insurance on the fucking thing.

Clueless Delivery Guy:

Apparently, after he reserved his rental car, Mr. Crazyasfuckinghell called and made another purchase.

None of us had a clue when you walked onto the floor looking for Mr. Crazyasfuckinghell. We thought maybe you were a grandson or something.

We have to wonder though, what YOU were thinking;

When you pulled up to a fucking NURSING HOME with your delivery,

And when you got off the elevator and were surrounded by a dozen nurses, therapists, aides, and lots of sick old people,

And when Mr. Crazyasfuckinghell came out to greet you and receive his purchase of:

A ginormous bottle of fucking VODKA.

Really? You didn't think to check with a nurse before handing over the hard stuff?

And one more thing I need to know:

Who fucking delivers ALCOHOL around here? And why don't I have your number on speed dial??

Twelve Children's Hospital Employees Whom I Spoke To Between Monday and Wednesday Who Were No Fucking Help At All:

Ativan. That was all I needed. One fucking little white pill to get Owen through horrific ear cleaning procedure on Wednesday.

Three hours before appointment, no script called in.

Finally speak to nurse two hours before appointment;

"No, don't bother trying to get a hold of Dr. Reallynicebutdroppedthefuckingballonthisone. Cancel the appointment, have him call in the script, again, when I have that little pill in my hand, I'll call and reschedule".

On second thought, make that two pills.

Ya. One for me. I hear it goes well with Pinot Grigio.

Most Disgusting Fucking Dog On The Fucking Planet And Fucking Kids Who Love You:

What the fuck did you eat anyway? That was a lot of puke on my living room rug, even for you.

That I of course fucking stepped in and tracked all over the fucking house.

Why the fuck are we still feeding you? You just roam the neighborhood and ransack every one's trash. You filthy rotten fucking hound. You are so lucky that Al and the kids like you. If I had my way, I'd gift you to the fucking coyotes I hear howling every night. They'd make quick work of you little doggie.

And Owen, no, please don't drop your drawers and pee right on the front lawn, find a fucking tree will you?

That's better.

No, Bea, we're girls, we have to go inside and use the potty to pee. Please don't try to piss on a tree. Please?

OWEN!! What the fuck!!! You can't poop out here! Are you fucking kidding me?

Both of you. Now. You need to go play in the back, away from Owen's poop. I don't want you stepping in...

FUCKING OLIVE!!!!

Bad Bad Bad Dog!! I'm gonna hurl, I'm gonna hurl, I'm gonna hurl.

No kids, you can't play over there, even though Olive ate Owen's poop.

We're going inside now.

Mommy needs some juice.